Dana
by extraspoopy
Summary: Dana finds herself alone in a practically featureless hallway, a single beacon of hope—or despair, depending on the angle—glares at her. Will she free herself from her prison? How did she get here? Where is she going?
1. Chapter 1

"Hello?"

Echoes ricochet off walls to infinity. A single fluorescent light shines steadily against an onslaught of threatening void.

"Hello?!"

The increased intensity offers a more violent series of echoes ultimately silencing themselves as they find no ears but their owner's.

Dana mentally notes the pointlessness of shouting. Her supervisor never said this could happen. She deduces the facility must be underground; no level of surveillance detected any complex this large. However large it might be. None of the reports, neither her own nor Carla's, had offered any insight to hidden facilities. The words "Just a check up, not an invasion" stir her stream of consciousness to a raging rapid, repeating themselves again and again until—is the light getting dimmer?

Anger. Rage, even. Stoked by fear and fanned by—what? What was this feeling? Why was it so intense? It felt right, good even. Like the five minutes after an act of true, immature revenge before guilt comes to surface.

A bellow erupts: "Hello!?" The echoes continue on for a long time. The light dims further, until the void surrounds Dana's vision, body, mind. A familiar whisper just makes it through before complete release, "hello."

…

The antithesis of void is difficult to describe. One possible description—which Dana herself crafted on the slightly reflective, body-temperature surface she found herself upon—was infinitely bothersome. Bright, annoying light pierced her eyelids on what she had recently declared an exceptionally rude awakening. Beeps marched on, completely disregarding her recent arousal from a long, albeit uneventful, slumber.

The light steadily became slightly less annoying, as a face came into focus. Eyes daring all about them to see more than they had peered into Dana's own, flickering hurriedly about the room to the chorus of beeps biding for attention.

No pain, head's as clear as it could be for the way she woke up, and she knew she still had everything she remembers having on her body including her clothing. So this wasn't a hospital.

Memories of the dark corridor slowly sneak back from where they had hidden themselves away. Was this the next level of torture? Why? What had she done?

The all-knowing eyes lingered from time to time. Each stare seemed slightly longer, before a hand raised up to reach for something behind Dana's head.

A click sounded, followed by complete silence. The eye's accompanying maw stretched into a proud grin, wrinkles finding familiar places and settling comfortably in.

A whir picks up volume from below Dana. A tingle grows with it at the base of her neck. The sterile blank of the room intensifies, filling her vision again with an ever-increasing anti-void. She did not struggle. What would be the point? A glint of light brighter than everything else caught her eye just a moment before she melted into the anti-void—the everything. The universe.


	2. Chapter 2

The desert offers a landscape somewhat less impressive than Dana's childhood imaginings. Most things are somewhat less impressive than how one imagines them as a child. Even the most epic supernova lies—in the limited human perspective—locked in a slow, steady cosmic puff; the last attempt of a star to give slightly larger matter to the surrounding space. This desert stood as an unfortunate arranging of said matter into a slightly less-than-impressive plain of lifelessness.

Of course she lands this assignment. The dry, dry dust along each side of the road invaded the nostalgic smells of city streets, parks, and even her old apartment. The road creeps endlessly over the horizon and Dana finds herself drifting into her mind.

Time does not seem to pass as the desert cycles a blank backdrop to an unbearably straight road. The sun creeps just above the horizon, daring to set. The first variance, a wooden board with a burned phrase, immediately catches the eye before the words become visible:

_Welcome to Night Vale_

_We have nothing to fear except ourselves._

The satellite radio cuts out as the sign whips by. As the car searches for some sort of station to keep Dana entertained. The first sign of civilization pops over the horizon as a mellifluous voice filled the SUV.

"Trust everyone. Welcome to Night Vale."

Dana's eyes flicked at the radio, noting the helpful glow illuminating the buttons from inside. Looking up, a red light blinking atop the tallest tower shines a hopeful beacon in the otherwise uneventful Night Vale Skyline.

The friendly first phrase quickly finds itself followed by a report on the "Valentine's Day aftermath." Dana's heart beats faster as the reporter lists areas of Night Vale wiped out or widely demolished by the day's events. The swift transition to airport scheduling gives an air of strange dissonance. Bad news was far from shocking, sure, but the report seemed lacking compared to the numbers thrown about like poker hands on D.C. newscasts.

Darkness finally stretches across all the desert wastes. Flipping through the channels offers no relief to disturbingly casual news, so Dana cuts the report short. Silence relieves little distress—a dimly lit box on the road ahead creeps steadily closer. A blink before a smiling figure retracts a hand from the driver's window, a sideways smile accompanying the sad, tiny eyes. Dana surely needed rest.

Shortly afterwards Night Vale surrounded the landscape; storefronts, houses, street lamps, and pedestrians scuttled around each window, inhabiting every mirror. Gravel crunches in the driveway of her new—hopefully short-period—home. The car door opens to a head crooked in curiosity.

"Hello, I am here." The statement matched a light voice that almost escaped its owner with every word.

Dana's mouth twitched into a smile, "Yes, you are. Are you my neighbor? I'm Dana, just moved here."

"I am here. I am Paul. I have survived." The stranger's backpack shifted, a huge bundle of sticks sticking out far above the man's head. "I am here."

"Do you live around here?"

"Sometimes I am there," Paul points to the nearby library, "but don't visit when I am there. You wouldn't survive."

Dana's heart drops. "Are you threatening me?!"

"No, help." Paul turns, sticks daring the simple rope around them to break.

"Paul! What are you talking about?!" Dana's exasperated yelp did not break Paul's step as he disappears behind a nearby fence.

Dana looked about for other neighbors. Finding nobody in the darkness, she begins the long, tedious task of moving into the small, slightly quaint house. Hauling box after box, the hour's labor feels like days once everything's in. A comfortable couch, apparently one that came with the home, begs Dana's tired eyes to come and rest, preferably with the rest of her body. She succumbs, her soft snore filling the house as it settled in with its new owner.


End file.
